Do or Die
by No Illusions
Summary: "Don began to turn, but never finished. The pain on the back of his head was sharp and sudden, and he felt himself fall forward, losing his grip on his gun." Don whump, appearances by the rest of FBI team. Don/Robin. Mentions of various episodes.
1. I'm Gone

A/N: Takes place in season 4, with references to trust metric. Don/Robin. This is my first Numb3rs fic, so please be nice. Shameless Don whump.

Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or its characters. Those belong to CBS and the show's creators.

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"I was born here and I'll die here against my will  
I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still  
Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb  
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from  
Don't even hear a murmur of a prayer  
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there"

-It's Not Dark Yet, Bob Dylan

Chapter 1—I'm Gone

They tried knocking. No one answered, and they had a search warrant. Don looked at Colby, who nodded back at him. Don moved forward, kicking the door inwards as Colby yelled "FBI!" Don moved in first, gun out, scanning the room. He'd motioned to Colby to go left while he went right. Don moved slowly into the living room, swinging his gun in wide arcs, careful not to miss any potential hiding places. He moved slowly into the next room in the flat, a bedroom of some sort. He came in from the left, moving at a diagonal. There was nothing to his right, and he quickly pivoted, scanning his left side. Nothing. He stepped farther into the room, heading towards the next door that would lead him into Colby's section of the house. Suddenly, he heard movement behind him.

Don began to turn, but never finished. The pain on the back of his head was sharp and sudden, and he felt himself fall forward, losing his grip on his gun. The world around him swam in and out of focus. He saw blue, like the sky. When his eyes sharpened, Don realized that he was just seeing the rug, mere centimeters from his nose. He groaned, beginning to move. He tried to get his hands under him to push himself up, but something jerked him back. He heard Colby call his name from somewhere far away. The world spun dangerously and when it came back into focus, Don was upright again, something locking him into place. He looked down in confusion and saw a man's arm, strong and muscled, locked around his chest, keeping him from stumbling forward.

"Colby?" Don mumbled.

"Shut up," growled a voice in his ear and it took Don a moment to register that the voice wasn't Colby's. A split second later, he registered the cool, hard object being pressed to his temple. A gun. The arm turned Don to face the doorway through which Colby would no doubt come in the next few seconds. Don's attacker shifted with him, keeping Don between himself and the door.

Part of Don knew that he should fight back, do something. But his head was pounding and his eyelids were flickering. His head nodded as he began to slip out of consciousness, but the resulting growl in his ear caused him to wrench his eyelids back open, trying to focus on the door through which Colby was just now coming.

At the sight of Don with a gun to his head, Colby froze, gun up. The man behind Don was only slightly taller than him, so that Colby could just barely see the tip of his nose behind Don's head. The voice that came from the man was deep, cold, and deliberate.

"The agent and I will leave," said the man. "You will stay."

"Not gonna happen," Colby told him, voice steady. Colby searched Don's face, looking for instructions, determination, anything. All he found was confusion. Colby's resolved doubled. There was no way this man was walking out of here with Don, not when it looked like Don had a concussion.

"We'll start simple, then," said the man, sounding in no way surprised by Colby's refusal. "Put down your weapon." Colby looked at him, then at Don, then back again. He slowly lowered his weapon onto the cool linoleum of the kitchen. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. If Don was communicating with him, maybe, but Don still looked only semi-conscious, semi-aware of what was going on. In short, he looked helpless.

"Good," said the man, and Colby could see his cheeks crinkle with a humorless smile. "Now kick it back away from you, all the way to the end of the room." Colby did as he was told. "Now your back-up weapon." Colby hesitated and saw anger flash in the man's eyes. He pushed the gun even harder into Don's temple, forcing Don's head to tilt sideways slightly. Don groaned as the world around him spun.

Colby bent and removed his back-up from its ankle holster, sliding it away to rest with his main weapon. "And your knife," the man informed him. Colby removed it from its sheath and slid it away as well. Now he was totally unarmed and they both knew it.

The man pushed Don away from him. He stumbled towards Colby and Colby caught him. Colby looked back at the man, who he could now see was sturdily built, strong and tall, with nondescript brown hair and cold grey eyes. "Take his cuffs," the man demanded. Colby did as he was told, reaching behind Don, who was managing to support himself on the door frame, to grab his cuffs. "Cuff him, hands behind his back. Do it tightly, because I'll be checking." Colby saw very little point in resisting. Although the man had no hostage anymore, he was too far away to fight, and he had both of Don's guns as well as his own. He would no doubt retrieve Colby's weapons as soon as possible. Colby cuffed Don, who appeared to be recovering. Don looked at Colby, his expression giving nothing away.

The man motioned to Don with his gun. "What's your name?" he asked. Don, not seeing any point in not answering, told him. "Eppes," responded the man. "Interesting. I take it you come bearing search warrants?" Don nodded, wincing slightly at the resulting tilt of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a closest, door open. That must have been where the man was hiding. There was no handle either, nothing that would have tipped Don off about its existence from the angle at which Don had been standing. It looked like a sliding door. He turned his attention back to the man, who he now recognized as the murder suspect who owned the house, Dylan Hett.

"Eppes," continued the man. "Well, Eppes, please have a seat," he said, indicating the wall next to the door into the kitchen. Don considered refusing, wanting nothing more than to spit in the man's face as he retrieved his gun, which was currently being pointed at him and Colby. On the other hand, Don wasn't entirely sure that his legs were going to support him for much longer. He took a step or two to the side and sunk to the floor, his head spinning. The man turned back towards Colby. "Now your turn," he said. "Cuff yourself." Colby did so, seeing no other choice. The man would probably just leave them here now—why make them cuff themselves if he was just going to shoot them? And with a little work, they would be able to reach their cell phones to call for back-up. Sure, Hett would be gone, but they could always find him again. This was much, much better, thought Colby, than Hett with a gun to Don's head.

Hett directed Colby to sit against the wall about three yards from where Don sat. He then walked up to Don, who glared up at him. "Hett, you know you won't get away with this?" Don spat. Colby sighed inwardly. Maybe Don could have waited to threaten the guy until they were actually safe? Hett looked down at Don, and then stepped towards him from the side. "Don't move," Hett warned, gun pointed at Don's head. Don didn't need Charlie to tell him that if managed to take Hett's legs out from under him, the gun would shift up until it was pointing directly at Colby. It would take roughly that long for Hett to pull the trigger. Hett leaned over Don, still keeping the gun pointed at him. He reached out his hand and for a moment Don couldn't figure out what he was going to do. Then the hand grasped Don's hair and yanked his head back so it slammed into the wall. The last thing Don heard was Colby's angry "No!"

Colby watched Don's eyes flutter shut. He was barely conscious, Colby could tell, not enough to try anything. Then Hett turned to Colby. Colby watched him carefully. Hett didn't step towards him, merely away from Don. Then he raised the gun. Colby's breath hitched, but then Hett lowered the gun from his head. Colby relaxed slightly, and then was caught completely unaware by the shot. It reverberated through his body. His heart was beating and he could feel each new pulse of blood pumping towards the gaping hole in his leg. Colby moaned, automatically trying to reach out for his leg, to make the pain stop, control the blood loss, anything. The handcuffs cut into his wrists.

Colby was vaguely aware of Hett leaving the room and returning with Colby's weapons. Hett tucked them away into various holsters around his body. He seemed very prepared for this—most people didn't have room to stow five guns safely on their person. The thought flickered in Colby's mind through the pain—he'd been waiting for them.

Colby automatically threw himself forward as Hett reached once again for his boss, dragging Don up. Colby recoiled as the pain shot through his leg. Don groaned, opening his eyes and stumbling when Hett pushed him towards the exit.

Colby watched them go, feeling nothing but the throbbing pain in his leg. Once they were gone, Colby looked down at his leg, trying to assess the damage. It looked as though Hett had hit an artery. The world was beginning to spin and Colby frantically fumbled for his cell, punching in his speed dial number for David.

"David," he managed to get out. Then the world slipped sideways and black took its place.

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Please R&R!


	2. No Delusions

A/N: I know that I said this took place in season 4, but now I'm more inclined to say season 5, just with "Trust Metric" still fresh in everyone's minds. Hey, it's fan fiction for a reason, right? And I have almost all of this fic written already-maybe a chapter and a half or so left to write, so I know where this is going (kinda). Hopefully I'll be posting pretty regularly, every day or two-the fic may have been pre-written, but it's not pre-edited! Oh, and thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm so glad to hear that people are enjoying it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs or its characters.

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Tell me straight out, if you will

Why must you torture me within

Why must you come from your high hill

And throw my fate to the clouds and wind

-"Tell Ol' Bill," Bob Dylan

Chapter 2—No Delusions

Don remembered things in flashes. Sky blue, Colby, a gun, and then a period of more clarity: handcuffs, sitting against the wall, and a hand. Then he went fuzzy again: he remembered a gunshot—Colby?—and a door, bright sunlight, a car, and then black. In fact, it was still black. And bumpy. The car, Don reasoned. He must be in the trunk.

Don maneuvered about in the small space, positioning his feet on one of the tail lights. He kicked, hard, the shock jarring its way through his body. The taillight wouldn't budge. He swore, leaning his head back on the floor to rest it in a vain attempt to stop its pounding. The bumps shook his head, and Don took a moment for inventory. He seemed to be unharmed, except for what he was pretty sure was a mild concussion. His wrists were cuffed behind him and he was weaponless. He could feel the empty holsters for his normal gun and his cell phone. Lifting up his leg, he found it slightly lighter than usual—his backup weapon was missing as well. Don was pretty sure he could remember things clearly enough, though. He tried remembering the date, the president, what he did yesterday, etc. Of course, there was no one to tell him if he was getting any of the answers right, but he took the fact that the information came to mind readily enough as a good sign.

He was pretty certain he could piece together what had happened before hand—he and Colby had been executing a search warrant, no one had answered, they'd been clearing the house, and then pain. Where the pain had come from was not that difficult: Don could only suppose that he had missed something—ah! the closet—and then Colby had come in and there had been a gun to Don's head. And Colby had been shot, Don was sure of it. That was first and foremost in Don's mind—he'd been too out of it to even notice where Hett had shot Colby. The younger agent was probably dead or dying. Don's thoughts swirled into panic at the thought and he clenched his jaw to get himself back under control. He was supposed to be protecting Colby, and the best way to do that was to get out of this situation as soon as possible and alert the rest of his team to their predicament.

Suddenly, the car jolted to a halt. Don slid a few inches farther back into the trunk. He groaned as his head bumped the back of the seat in front of him. He heard the engine shut off and the car door slam. The trunk was thrown open and Hett stood over him. Don blinked up at him, his eyes taking little time to adjust to the dim light of the garage in which they were parked. As Hett hauled him from the trunk, Don realized that it wasn't a garage—it was a wide open space, like a warehouse. There was no cover he could use if he managed to escape. Don turned to Hett.

"The agent who was with me? Did you kill him?" Don asked immediately. His voice came out as more of a threat than a question, but Don hardly noticed. Hett just grinned at him.

"Not sure," he replied. "I shot him in his artery. So everything rather depends on how fast he called for back-up—well, actually it more depends on if he called for back-up before he lost consciousness." Don glared at the man in front of him, but he felt something almost like relief. Colby was resourceful and stubborn—he would be fine. He would have been able to keep his head long enough to dial Megan or David, which meant that people were probably already out looking for him. "I wasn't aiming to kill him, necessarily," Hett reassured him, pulling Don back to the warehouse. Hett didn't sound like he cared either way.

They had begun walking towards one wall of the warehouse. Don occasionally stumbled, his head throbbing horribly. He was tempted to try something, anything, to escape, but he knew that there was no way he could make it anywhere with his head spinning the way it was. Better to wait for things to calm down a bit.

Upon reaching the wall, Hett pushed Don face-first against it. Don tensed, worried that he could see Hett or what he was doing. But surely Hett wouldn't kill him now? Don asked himself. Why bring him here if he could have just shot him in the house with Colby?

Suddenly, Don's body jerked. He only heard the echoes of the shot—he couldn't remember hearing the shot itself. But the pain—he felt the pain. It was in his shoulder, radiating through every part of him. He cried out in surprise, sinking to the ground, twisting as he did so, using the wall to prop himself up as he tried to look at Hett. Don's only thought was that there was no way Hett had accidentally missed from so close. No way. So he wasn't meant to be dead. Don figured that he should find that comforting.

Hett's boot slammed into Don's shoulder, causing him to cry out again, something between and outright yell and a groan. Hett increased the pressure on Don's injured shoulder, jamming it into the wall. Don was sweating, gritting his teeth. The pain was like fire, his shoulder was on fire and it was being crushed by rock. Slowly the world was going dark again.

Then the pressure was released and Don was brought back into the grey light of the warehouse, grey like the eyes he was staring up into. The eyes were smiling at him.

"I'm not going to pretend," said Hett. "There's no excuse for this. I have no questions to ask you, no escape I need you for. I'm just in it for the fun. I didn't torture the last one." Don realized that he was referring to their murder victim. "I've never tortured anyone, although I've researched it enough. But you…" Hett paused. Don looked up at him, working to get his breathing back under control. "I mean, might as well take out the agent in charge of the investigation, right?" Hett asked. "And I might as well get a little creative as I do it, right? Before it was always women… they weren't much fun, to be honest. I was never lucky with my victims. They always gave in so quickly." Hett's voice had taken on different tone, as though he was sharing some sort of secret with Don. Don's blood was running cold. There had been more women, more victims that they hadn't known about. How many had this man murdered? "They screamed too much, and I didn't even hurt them. Well, until I killed them. But that was quick. They felt nothing," said Hett dismissively. He brought his focus back to Don. "You will," he promised.

"I won't tell you anything," Don spat at him. Hett shrugged.

"You don't need to," he said.

Don was rather at a loss for words. What did you say when a man politely informed you that there was no reason to torture you but he was going to do it anyways? He was saved from having to resolve the dilemma when Hett hauled him up again. Don let out a sharp breath as his shoulder was pulled. He stumbled in the direction Hett pushed him until he saw a door in the wall. When Hett began to redirect them towards it, Don reacted. The odds were that the door led to a smaller room, one that would function as a cell. It was one thing to escape from a warehouse too large to be rendered completely escape-proof, but it was an entirely different thing to try and escape from a small room specifically made to hold someone in.

Don estimated that Hett was about a foot behind him and placed his kick accordingly. He felt his foot collide with Hett's knee and heard the other's sharp intake of breath. Don took off running, knowing that it was hopeless. Hett had the guns and Don had nowhere to hide. This time he did hear the shot. The only thought in his mind was that it would be quicker this way. It would be better than torture.

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Hope you enjoyed it! Please review!


	3. It Begins

A/N: Okay, so I just realized that I clearly need more sleep. While Don and Robin are more serious than they are in season 4, Megan's still present. *sigh* But that's why it's called fan**fiction**, right? So, yes, I realize my mistake. Just bear with me here, people. Oh, and for those of you out there wondering if the CalSci crew will be showing up any time soon, I hate to disappoint you. This is officially a math-free fic. It's not that I don't love the math-believe me, I do-but because I've wanted to write Numb3rs fanfic for years but have always worried that I won't be able to properly represent the characters that I love so much. For example, you won't be hearing much from David in this fic. That's because I struggle to write David. While I'm reasonably certain that I can do a passable fic with the FBI characters, there is absolutely no way I can mirror the CalSci crew. Not yet, anyway.

Disclaimer: Numb3rs is not mine.

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I try to find one smiling face

To drive the shadow from my head

I'm stranded in this nameless place

Lying restless in a heavy bed

-"Tell Ol' Bill," Bob Dylan

Chapter 3—It Begins

Don opened his eyes slowly. In front of him was a wall. His head rested against it, and he felt his arms stretched above him. He was in a kind of kneeling position, except that his knees themselves were barely brushing the floor. It was his arms that were holding him up.

Don hurt all over. His right shoulder was particularly awful. It was twisted up above him at an impossibly painful angle, and when he shifted slightly there was a jolt of pain up his entire arm. It took him a moment to figure out why it felt encrusted with something. Then he remembered—blood. He had been shot. In fact, he had been shot two times, he was sure. The fact that he was no dead just meant that Hett's aim had been off slightly. He began shifting his body, trying to find the other bullet hole. He located it on his left leg, somewhere near the knee. He held back a gasp as he moved it. He froze as he realized something. There was absolutely no way that Hett was that bad a shot. Not with what they knew about this guy. He'd hit Don in the knee, while he had been running. Head shots tended to go wide, body shots as well, but rarely too low. Hett's shot had been designed to bring him down. Not kill him. So much for avoiding torture, thought Don, and then mentally scolded himself. It was much, much too early in all of this for death wishes.

There was a chuckle from behind him. Don stiffened. He tried to twist around to look for its source—Hett, he was sure—but he found that any movement was too painful to be worth it at this point. Don grimaced. He heard a sound as Hett moved about the room, but then nothing. Don tried to twist around again, gritting his teeth against the pain. Pain or no, he hated not having a location on the enemy. But Don simply didn't have enough purchase on the floor to use his knees to help, and his arms weren't enough. He could see nothing, hear nothing. But then he felt something.

It was a method not often used anymore in torture. There were more painful ways to do things, ways that didn't involve wasting cigarettes. But what was lacking in the pain department—and that wasn't much, from Don's perspective—was made up for by shock. Don hadn't seen the cigarette lowered down onto the back of his neck. He jerked when it made contact, trying to shy away from it, turning his head and pressing his cheek against the cool, cool wall. A hand held his head in that position and he struggled, trying to pull away. Now, if he strained, he could see the cigarette out of the corner of his eye, its glowing end seeming to be eating up the rest of the world, as if that little spark of fire was all that mattered anymore. And, as it came down on the tender skin of Don's neck at the base of his ear, it was.

Don's teeth were clamped tightly together and he yelled through them, his body tight and straining to escape. There was nothing rational about his escape attempts. There was nowhere to go. But all Don wanted was for the pain to stop. It occurred to him that Hett could do this for a long, long time. The thought scared him, and Don struggled to bite back the instinctual panic that came with helplessness. Eventually, Hett removed the cigarette from his neck. Don watched out of the corner of his eye and was amazed to see that the cigarette had hardly burned down at all. It had felt as though it had been on him for an eternity.

Hett thrust Don's head back against the wall, carefully choosing the places into which he pressed the cigarette next—the inside of Don's elbow, the base of his skull, the soft skin of his upper left arm. Hett particularly enjoyed that last one—Don could hear his cold chuckle in his ear. Don had jerked, losing his balances and putting all of his weight on his right arm, his right shoulder, where Hett had shot him. Don had cried out then. It had started as a gasp of pain, and then moved into a yell. Don had been unable to bite back the sound.

Eventually, Hett left him. Don's body shook from head to toe, straining in too many directions as it tried to avoid putting any of his injuries in greater discomfort. His teeth were clamped shut hard enough that his jaw ached. He made no sound. For hours, his world was nothing but pain.

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At some point, Don began to think rationally. His team would be looking for him. They would have gotten to Colby by now—he'd be in the hospital (Don refused to consider the other option). They may even have gotten a statement from him and know what had happened. They would find him. Don was beginning to realize that Hett had no intention of making this short. He would be here for his team to find. He hoped.

A little while later, Don heard the door behind him open. He tensed, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to hold back his automatic emotional reaction. Hett couldn't see him either way, he reasoned. After the door clicked shut, Hett moved around silently. Don waited, anticipating the pain to come, trying to prepare himself for it.

He felt a breath on the back of his neck. Startled, all of Don's calm went out the window. He jerked his head up, trying to twist around. Suddenly it occurred to him that maybe it wasn't Hett who was doing this to him. Maybe he wasn't in the room at the warehouse. Maybe he'd been moved somewhere else, by someone else. He'd have no way of knowing, and that scared him. He frantically struggled to twist around, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He needed to see his captor. Anyone could be behind him. He twisted desperately until a vice like grip held him still, clamping down on the pressure points in his neck. He was unable to do more than grunt as a needle pricked his skin. Then the world faded away.

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Don opened his eyes groggily. His head was pounding. He tested himself, shifting a little bit in each direction, trying to figure out if he'd been injured some more when he was out. Apparently not. He remembered being injected with something, but for some reason that seemed unimportant now. Actually, nothing seemed particularly important. He knelt there for a while, trying to think. He couldn't see his watch and although there may have been windows in the room, he couldn't see them and he had yet to see any light from them. The only light he could detect was clearly artificial, barely enough to light up the wall he was chained to. He had no idea how long he'd been there. What mattered, he reasoned, was that he was still there. No time like the present, said a slightly hysterical voice in his mind. Don shook himself, wondering what had gotten into him. He had never been the type to panic.

Don listened, trying to determine where he was and if there was anyone with him. He could hear no cars, no traffic, no voices. No breathing in the room that he noticed. Once again, he tried to twist, his imagination getting the better of him. What if there was someone there? He hated not being able to see anything. Sweat prickled his back. He thought he heard a faint chuckle. Then a voice.

It was a voice he loved. He didn't bother to think what she might be doing here. It never occurred to him that she might be in just as much trouble as he. It certainly never occurred to him that she might be causing the trouble. When he heard her voice, he tried even harder to twist around. He wanted to see her. But after a few minutes, he stopped struggling. He trusted her, as much as he trusted anyone. As long as she could see the room, he was safe.

"Robin," he muttered. His voice came out horse, a little bit shaky. He could feel her sad smile.

"I'm here, Don," she told him. "Of course I'm here."

"I knew you'd come," he said, resting his head against the cool wall. And in that moment, he did know, as though he'd always known it—Robin would come for him. Not David, not Megan, not Charlie, not Colby. Robin. And here she was. "I love you, you know," he continued, not even registering the significance of the words. She smiled again.

"I know," she said. "It's okay, Don, really it is. I love you too. You'll be fine. I could never let anything happen to you." Don listened to the words and smiled faintly, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"Robin?" he asked, having no idea what he wanted to say. He just wanted to hear her voice again. He didn't feel the pain when he was listening to her.

But she didn't answer.

There was another chuckle behind him, and this time he knew that it couldn't be Robin. It was masculine, cold and cruel. "She's not here with you, Eppes," said Hett's voice. "She's never been here with you."

The words tore at Don, but suddenly he understood. The needle.

"What did you inject me with?" he growled.

Behind him, Hett shrugged. "I'm not sure, honestly. I know it's supposed to cause hallucinations, though. It has some long name I never even tried to pronounce. I admit, I was rather curious to see how hallucinations work when there's a wall in your face. Did you no longer see the wall? Or was it just her voice? Your girlfriend's? Or someone else's?" Don clenched his jaw, realizing that Hett had heard the whole thing. His conversation with Robin had been private—his conversation without Robin, rather. Her voice had seemed so real. Don wished she would come back. Even if she wasn't really here—if she came back, he wouldn't feel the pain again, the irrational part of his mind told him. The drugged part of his mind, he asserted.

"You won't get that lucky, Eppes," growled Hett. Don vaguely wondered if he'd spoken aloud. He didn't have much time to wonder.

Robin's voice didn't save him from the pain, not until hours later, when Hett was long gone. When he finally heard her again, he sighed in relief, closing his eyes and smiling into the wall.


	4. Demands

A/N: Just as a warning, this chapter contains references to Trust Metric and Two Daughters. And I realize that I haven't been thanking you guys for all of the reviews, which is horridly rude of me! Please forgive me-reviews make my day!

Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own Numb3rs.

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The evening sun is sinkin' low

The woods are dark, the town is too

They'll drag you down, they run the show

Ain't no tellin' what they'll do

-"Tell Ol' Bill," Bob Dylan

Chapter 4—Demands

Megan was pacing. In fact, she was pretty sure that everyone was pacing, in their own way. Colby was still in the hospital—he'd lost a ton of blood, but he'd be fine. She closed her eyes for a moment. The last time he'd been in the hospital seemed much too recent. At least he'd woken up briefly, briefly enough to explain the important things—Hett had an injured Don. That was all that mattered, in the end. Not that it did much good. They'd already been able to guess as much, in the six hours Colby had spent unconscious. David was still at the hospital. When she'd left, he'd been looking in the window at Colby. Megan couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of the last time he'd been looking in through an identical window, seeing his partner unconscious and injured.

Megan had notified the Eppes family. Charlie, Alan, Robin, Amita, and Larry were at the house now. She'd left them too their worry, afraid to share with them her own. She was, after all, in charge now. The ball was in her court.

Megan rubbed her face with her hands, still pacing up and down the room. She turned her head to the video display, which showed pictures of Hett's original victim and his home in the aftermath of Don and Colby's encounter. There was a large purple stain on the blue carpet in one of the pictures. She knew that on any other color rug, that stain would have been red. But Colby was alright now. He was not their priority here.

She and David needed to find Don. Something Colby had told her had her worried. In a way, she supposed that it was a good thing. She clung to the hope that Don might still be alive. The other part wondered about his current state, assuming Colby's analysis was correct. Colby had looked her in the eyes, right before the nurse had pumped more drugs into him, and told her that he thought Hett would not kill Don immediately. She had been relieved, for a split second. Until Colby had continued: "He enjoyed hurting us," he'd said. "He'll want to do it more."

The problem was, Megan thought, still pacing, there were no leads. She had no idea where Hett would go now. Did the man have a plan? Had this been spur-of-the-moment? Without knowing this, she knew nothing. Part of her ached in despair. They wouldn't find Don in time.

The door behind her swung open. She spun around, and glared as David entered with Colby at his heels, on crutches.

"There is no _way _they released you from the hospital," she told Colby. Colby just looked at her.

"You know what it's like," was all he said. And he was right. When Megan had been kidnapped, her captor had cut her artery, gambling that the team would save her rather than chasing her abductor. Megan had survived—barely. Her call had been as close as Colby's. A few hours later, she'd had Larry smuggle her out of the hospital. She sighed as she looked at the two men before her, thinking faintly how wonderful it was to have Colby back. David stood close to him, protective and supportive. Megan turned back to the screen on the wall.

"Alright," she began, knowing that to fight Colby now would simply be a losing battle. "We need a plan. I can't find anything on Hett, no other properties or investments in L.A. He has no known associates here, either. We've been over this, of course. I can't find anything new."

"What about Charlie?" asked David. Megan shook her head.

"He's a mess, and he's with Amita and Alan," she explained. "I asked him if he could do anything, but he just looked at me. Maybe in a little while"—Megan didn't like to think about what might have happened to Don in a little while—"we can ask again. But I think we may have to do this one alone, guys." Just then, her phone rang.

Megan looked at it. She looked up, surprise etched on her face. "Don," she almost whispered. Colby and David's heads snapped up. They rushed to tap into Megan's phone. When they were ready—after the third ring—she picked up.

"Reeves," she said, not knowing what—who—to expect.

"Hello, Megan." It was not Don's voice. She tensed—had Don told him her name? Then she relaxed slightly—of course. She was on Don's speed dial. He'd seen her name there.

"Hett," she said. A statement, not a question.

"I take it the guy I shot made it out? I rather expected him to. He seemed resourceful."

Megan's jaw clenched. "Is Agent Eppes okay?"

Hett paused. "He's alive, if that's what you mean."

"Let me talk to him," said Megan.

"I don't think so," Hett replied easily. "You'll have confirmation that he's breathing soon enough."

"What do you want?" she asked firmly.

"I want you."

Megan's reaction was involuntary. She froze, eyes wide. Surely not… Colby and David glanced up at her, identical looks of horror plastered on their faces. The man at the other end of the line chuckled.

"No, no, not like that," he told her. "And you should see the glare your boss just gave me. But no one worry. Actually, though, I should clarify. I don't just want you, Agent Reeves. I want all of you. There are four people to a team in the FBI. I shot one of you. I expect his presence as well, by the way. And whoever the fourth team member is." Megan had automatically relaxed, but now she was tense again. What did she do? Don would kill her if they followed this guy's demands. And if they didn't…

"Oh, and one more thing." The voice on the other end of the line. Megan's heart rate increased. "Eppes… says he knows someone named Robin. Robin will come too." Megan noted the slight pause at 'says,' and wondered how Hett knew about Robin. There was absolutely no way that Don had told him. From the other end of the line, Megan heard a strangled yell of fury. She wondered if Hett had positioned the phone precisely so that she would hear it. When the yell became a moan, she was sure that he had. She closed her eyes briefly, imagining what Hett had to have already done to Don to get such a sound out of him so quickly. At least they knew he was alive now.

"Tell me you're coming. All of you." Hett's voice was cold and hard. Megan looked frantically at Colby and David. She had no idea what to do in this situation. From the other end of the line, she heard Don cry out, this time in pain, not anger. She saw Colby's muscles tighten for an instant and David's involuntary flinch. She made up her mind.

"We'll be there." Her voice was hard.

"Good. Come alone. No weapons—I'm good at spotting them, just ask the agent I injured. Drive an unmarked car, no government tags or tracking devices. And bring Agent Eppes' friend. Robin." He said her name sweetly, and his voice made Megan feel sick. "Believe me, I'll know if it isn't her. Tell no one where you're going. It won't make a difference if you do, anyways. I can kill all of you before tactical can get to me. If you come alone, only one of you has to die. And he's already part of the way there." A groan from Don. Then the line went dead.

* * *

Don had heard Hett come in, and he had been surprised when Hett had come to lean against the wall to Don's side. It was the first Hett had let him see him since he'd woken up chained to this wall. Hett held Don's cell in front of his face.

"I want to talk to someone on your team. Preferably not the guy I shot. I imagine he's in the hospital… or a grave." Hett sounded as though he was merely listing possibilities, but his pause betrayed him. He was pushing Don's buttons. He wanted to see Don's reaction. Don didn't give him one. When Don hadn't responded a few seconds later, Hett opened the phone and accessed Don's speed dial. "In that case," he said, "I'll just have to guess. What about… 'Charlie?' Is he on your team? Or maybe he's not. Maybe you don't want me anywhere near him. Now… 'Robin.' I'd hazard a guess that you don't want me anywhere near her, either, team or no. 'Dad.' Presumably that's a no as well. I dial them—starting with Robin—unless you give me a number to dial instead."

Don stared at Hett. He assumed that his family and Robin had already been told. That he was missing. They would be wrecks. And then to hear from his captor... "Number 4 on my speed dial," he told Hett, glaring. Hett pushed the buttons, and then held the phone up to his ear. His eyes met Don's.

Don listened as Hett asked—no, it wasn't really a question, more of a dismissive statement—about Colby. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Colby had made it. Suddenly, a heavy weight lifted itself from Don's shoulders. Hett glanced at him, and Don guessed that Megan was asking to speak to him. Don wasn't in the least bit surprised to hear Hett's refusal. Then he heard Hett's cold, emotionless demand: "I want you." Don stiffened, glaring up at his captor. He did _not _like how that sounded. She was on his team, and Hett would not touch her. Hett saw him looking and chuckled at him. A shiver went down Don's spine. He was really, really beginning to hate that chuckle. Hett's reassurance of Megan made him feel no better. His next demand made Don furious—and afraid. He knew that they would come. In fact, he knew it before Megan herself even knew, not that he would ever be aware of that fact. They would be there, just as Hett demanded.

"Oh, and one more thing," continued Hett. Don's head jerked—not Charlie, not Dad, surely not them. "Robin will come too." Don cried out, lunging towards Hett. His cry of pain as the movement jarred both of his bullet wounds mixed with his yell of anger. The sound came out more animal than anything else, and in that moment Don realized just how desperate he truly was. If Hett had Robin… he was defeated.

Hett took a step towards him. Suddenly, his bad leg was jerked out from under him, leaving him swinging from his arms. Hett pulled his bad leg straight and Don bit back a yell—it came out as something closer to a moan—as the wound started bleeding again. Don could feel the blood softening his blood-encrusted jeans. Hett let him go. Don swung slightly and crashed into the wall before he could get control over his movements again.

"Tell me you're coming," demanded Hett. "All of you." Evidently he didn't like what he heard, because Hett slammed Don's injured knee up against the wall. Don could not stifle his cry of pain this time. Hett was behind him again, and Don hadn't seen the attack coming. He winced as he realized that this was all for show. Megan, and probably Colby and David, was hearing this.

"Good," he heard Hett say. Don sagged against his bonds, no longer bothering to hope. Don groaned as Hett put pressure once again on his injured leg before hanging up the phone.

* * *

Review, please!


	5. Company

**A/N: Okay, so I'm not completely happy with this chapter (hence the long wait), but I figured that I should just publish it and get it over with. I hope it's okay. And thanks everyone for the reviews! I really appreciate the feedback. **

**Disclaimer: Numb3rs is not mine. **

* * *

The moon gives light and shines by night  
I scarcely feel the glow  
We learn to live and then we forgive  
O'er the road we're bound to go  
More frail than the flowers, these precious hours  
That keep us so tightly bound  
You come to my eyes like a vision from the skies  
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down

-"When the Deal Goes Down," Bob Dylan

Chapter 5—Company

To Don the wait felt like an eternity. At first he had tried to fight. As soon as Don had reined in his despair, he'd lashed out at Hett with his good leg. He'd caught the man by surprise, taken his legs right out from under him. But Don hadn't planned particularly well—he was a sitting duck, really. Chained to the wall, with no escape. When Hett had regained his feet he'd looked at Don for a moment. He'd reached out and held Don's head steady, and for a moment Don had thought that Hett was going to knock him unconscious like he had in the house. Then he'd punched Don. Don felt his nose crack.

As he spat blood, Don felt the prick of the needle in his skin.

* * *

"You can still back out, you know," Megan told Robin, glancing back at her, concerned. They were in Megan's car, and she was driving, with Colby next to her, trying not to shift his leg too much. Colby was pale and sweating, and Megan was sure that his pain meds had to be wearing off by now, although he'd refused to take more. They dulled the senses. In the backseat were David and Robin.

Robin shook her head. "You know I can't. He could be telling the truth." Megan nodded. They'd considered leaving Robin behind, but there were too many ways to find out what she looked like. Don could have had a picture of her on him, or else on his phone. If Hett knew Robin's full name—because what Don had told him was a wildcard as well—he could have simply looked up her picture on the internet.

Megan slowed down a little, and then halted. "We're here," she told them. They all took a deep breath. Megan drove into the warehouse. Standing by a door in the wall was Hett. The door was open, Megan noted, and Hett was pointing a gun into the room beyond it. He was pointing it at Don, she reasoned. In case they tried anything.

Megan and the others stepped slowly out of the car. Hett checked them for weapons one by one, emptying their pockets. He made them remove the Kevlar vests they'd been wearing—just because he could, Megan was sure. Kevlar didn't exactly protect from close range head shots. When Hett gestured for them to step into the room, Megan entered last, followed only by Hett. She heard the door click shut behind them.

They'd decided on no backup. Having another team out there waiting was just too unreliable. They might decide to move at the wrong time, too soon or too late. With Don at Hett's mercy, coming in guns blazing hadn't been an option either. They had to play the hand they'd been dealt. They were alone with Don and Hett.

* * *

Don was chained to the wall, facing it. His arms were stretched above him, bare past the shoulders, where his shirt sleeves ended. On his arms Robin could see burns, many of them. There was blood dried on one arm as well, as though it had dripped downwards and dried before he had been chained. There was also blood on the floor. Don had his forehead rested against the wall, talking to himself.

"Ms. Brooks," mumbled Don, like he did when he flirted with her, and Robin heard the smile in his voice. She took a step forward, but David reached out and grabbed her arm, looking into her eyes and shaking his head.

"I wouldn't do that," confirmed Don's captor—their captor. Robin looked at him, glaring, eyes filled with fear and anger. Hett's gun was trained on Don. She stayed still, turning back to Don.

"Robin, I missed you," he told the wall, his voice suddenly raw with honesty. "I know you were working, and so was I. The job's everything, right? But it hurt. It hurt a lot. I… I think it still hurts, Robin. But… this is different." Don cocked his head slightly. "I suppose," he said dubiously. Then: "Robin?" He was almost begging this time. Behind him, his team's eyes were wide with horror. "You won't leave? It's worse when you're not here."

Robin turned furiously on Hett. "What did you do to him?" she hissed, her eyes glaring, holding back her tears through anger. She had never seen Don like this. His voice was his own, but his words were not.

"Drugged." The word was Colby's. Robin turned to him. "I think I recognize the… effects," he said in explanation. Megan stiffened and David glanced at Colby with a grimace. Hett looked remotely curious. Robin looked only at Don. Then Hett spoke.

"I think it's probably time for Eppes to come back down to earth, as they say. Don't you?" he asked calmly. "Why don't you come in? Stand against the wall, there," he told them, gesturing. Then he turned to Colby. "I'd have you do it, seeing as you know the drill, but I must say, you don't look so great," he said, noting Colby's pale complexion and his crutches. "You"—he gestured to Robin—"Robin Brooks, I presume?" He didn't wait for a response. Instead, he motioned to the handcuffs on the table. "Cuff them." Robin went over to the table, while the FBI agents moved towards the wall, never taking their eyes off of Hett. Robin moved over to them. Her heart was hammering, and her hands were shaking slightly. She was scared and furious, and she wanted nothing more than to run, or to hit Hett, scraping her nails down his face.

Instead, she cuffed Megan first, searching the other woman's eyes briefly before moving to pull her hands behind her back. She saw only understanding and pain. Then she cuffed the men. Colby sank to the floor as soon as he could no longer use his hands to hold the crutches steady. Their clatter made Don twitch, although he had yet to look at them. When Robin had cuffed herself as well and all of them were sitting against the wall—a safe distance apart, of course—Hett moved over towards Don.

Reaching up towards Don's left cuff, Hett unlocked it, allowing Don to swing away from the wall. Don't eyes had been partially closed, but now they shot open with the complete and utter clarity of initial pain. Hett swung Don around so that his back was towards the wall and he could see his team, his people—his girlfriend. Don looked over at them.

"Robin?" he asked, only this time he was actually looking at her, registering her presence. Then his head fell forward as his body tried to curl up, to protect itself. Hett had kicked his ribs, and everyone in the room had heard the sickening crack.

* * *

Don swung slightly in place, dangling from just his one wrist. He was gasping for air, trying to regain control of his body. Then another blow came, and another, these to his kidneys. Don winced away from them, gasping, raising his freed arm to try to fend them off, only to hear another sickening snap. He cried out in pain, instinctively cowering towards the wall, using it to protect as much of his body as possible. Eventually, the blows stopped.

Don looked up, his eyes following his torturer. Like a wounded animal, he could watch nothing but the thing that he knew would inflict more pain. Hett walked over to the table—Don had never seen it before this, although the rest of the room was much as he'd have imagined, with no other furniture but a chair for Hett to sit in—and picked up what appeared to be a metal pipe. As Hett turned back towards Don, Don shook his head. It was a pathetic gesture, weak, Don knew, but he hadn't been able to hold it back. Hett looked at him and then smiled. The smile was cruel.

Hett had a few good whacks at Don with the crowbar—he could see now that it was a crowbar now, not a pipe. Don wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, to surrender to the oblivion that he could feel hovering on the edge of his mind. But he couldn't. Don's eyes were glued to the crowbar, watching it come down on his ribs, his stomach, his broken arm. And then his ankle. It was his right ankle, and the bones didn't so much as break as crumble. Don felt them and he finally screwed his eyes shut, but he could no longer find the oblivion that had been waiting right there, waiting for him to reach out for it. The abrupt new pain had driven it away.

"Ah, damn!" Don cried out, eyes screwed shut, gasping. Every part of him hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to feel the fingers on either hand. His shoulders and his bones were still very much there, though. He let his head limp forward, vaguely heard Hett's footsteps retreating, and then became aware again of the other presences in the room. He lifted his head slowly. They had come for him. Only to see him like this. The eyes he sought first were Robin's. She was there, unharmed, her mouth open slightly, the pain on her face evident. Tears were running silently down her cheeks as she looked at him. He tried to smile weakly at her, but he was pretty sure it came out more as a grimace. He felt some of the dried blood on his face cracking.

Next was Megan. He wanted to kill her, really he did, for bringing them here. Her job was to protect the team. By bringing them here, by surrendering to Hett, she'd only sealed all of their fates. A voice in the back of his head admitted that he didn't want them to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. When his eyes met Megan's, she looked back at him, scared and defiant.

He looked at David next, and saw pain and horror in the man's eyes. David had been just as unprepared for this as the rest of them, and was taking it hard. Don's protective instincts stirred. How could he give up now, with everyone here depending on him? When he looked into Colby's eyes next, Don found only heartbroken understanding.

Don knew what they had all seen in his eyes. He felt it in himself, radiating through his very bones and into his surroundings until he breathed it back in with the air. He felt despair. A painful, determined despair, because he knew that they would not all make it out of this alive. And if one of them had to die today, he knew that he would be the one to do it.

* * *

**I hope it was okay-I'm sorry, I know it wasn't great, but this chapter just wasn't really working for me. Please no one bash me for it, because I'm perfectly aware that it wasn't all that good. I appreciate it :) I think I like the next chapter better, though. **


	6. Reunion

A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys! I'll be posting another chapter in a little while, because this one's short. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: No, Numb3rs is not mine.

* * *

Tell Ol' Bill when he comes home

That anything is worth a try

Tell him that I'm not along

And that the hour has come to do or die

-"Tell Ol' Bill," Bob Dylan

Chapter 6—Reunion

Don didn't remember passing out. He figured he must've, though, because there was no way he'd simply fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes, he was still hanging limply from one arm. He was stiff and he hurt all over. He looked towards Hett's chair first. It was empty. Then he looked towards the others. They were as he remembered them, sitting against the wall with their hands cuffed behind them. They were all watching him.

"Don," said Robin softly, seeing him looking at them. "Don, are you…" she paused a moment, then gave a shaky laugh, tinged with a note of panic. "I was going to ask if you're okay," she said. "But you're not." Don just looked at her. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was expected to say something at this point.

"Don." It was Colby's voice this time. "What hurts?"

Don gave a humorless bark of laughter. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Come on, Don," prompted Colby. "We need to know." Don nodded slightly, wincing.

"Um…" he began. "Concussion, definitely. Two bullet wounds, one in my shoulder"—he glanced upwards at the hanging limb—"and one in my leg, near my knee, I think." He gritted his teeth. He didn't like to continue. It was bad enough for his team, he knew, but he especially didn't like to let Robin hear it. At the same time, he knew that they had to know. They had to know that, in an escape, he would just be a burden—if they got the chance, they had to leave him behind.

"Don." Robin's voice was hard, with only a thin note of panic in it. "There's more." After a moment, Don continued.

"Other arm's broken, along with one of my ankles and my nose. Bruises galore. Burns. Maybe a cracked rib or two. I think that's all, though." He turned to Colby, taking in the younger agent's pale state.

"Colb, you okay?" Don asked, worried, trying to focus on his junior agent.

"Yeah, Don, I'm fine," responded Colby. "But Hett won't be when I get my hands on him. Bastard shot me in the leg." Don knew what Colby left unsaid: that if it ever came to a fight, any revenge Colby got would not just be for himself.

"Everyone else?" asked Don.

"We're all fine, Don," came David's voice. Don considered turning his head to look David in the eye, but changed his mind—he preferred the world to remain upright and still. He had a feeling that it would not if he tried to move again.

He paused briefly, unable to contain his anger any longer, although he was almost glad of the company. "Megan." His voice came out a near growl. "What are you all doing here? We don't negotiate, and this guy isn't exactly gonna let us go just because you're here." He looked up at his second in command as he spoke. She looked away from him.

"Look, Don," she began, her voice heavy. "We're here because we had no choice," she said. "There was always a chance. There still is. As long as we're here, we can help you."

"Reeves," he growled again. "You don't put more agents into danger just because a murderer tells you to. And you never, ever bring a civilian into a hostage situation."

"We couldn't go by the book on this one, Don," she told him angrily. "You're our boss. And our friend. And it's not like you never disregard the rules."

"Not when it puts my team's life at risk!" Don nearly yelled. "And what about Robin?"

"They gave me a choice, Don," Robin told him, her eyes meeting his. "And here I am." He glared at them all with as much strength as he could muster.

"Can you move around?" he asked them finally. David shook his head, speaking up for the first time.

"Handcuffed to chains on the wall." Don's disappointment was sharp. Movement led to escape. He supposed that Hett knew this too.

"Look, guys," he said, his mind groaning slightly. He wasn't sure that he had the energy it took to lead anymore, but the team was together and he needed to take command. "You need to get out of here, okay? If any one of you"—his eyes rested on Robin—"gets a chance, run for it. I doubt Hett would even think of using any of you as leverage. I'm the hostage here, after all. If one or all of you run for it, he'll hurt me. And…" Don paused, looking for the right words. "And I don't think I'm going to make it either way."

* * *

Review!


	7. Choices

**A/N: Okay, so here's the promised second chapter! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs.  
**

* * *

I've been trying to get as far away from myself as I can  
Some things are too hot to touch  
The human mind can only stand so much  
You can't win with a losing hand

-"Things Have Changed," Bob Dylan

Chapter 7—Choices

David was watching Don carefully. His boss looked bad. He was covered in blood that no doubt hid additional wounds from view. He was hanging from one arm, the handcuff that held him in place clearly cutting painfully into his wrist. It looked as though his knees were barely touching the ground and David imagined that the strain on his arm must be agonizing. Don's other arm hung at an odd angle, clearly broken. Don's brown eyes were clouded with pain, although they had cleared slightly with the intensity of Don's need for them to escape. His eyes were slowly drifting closed. Don had, David realized, given up.

"Don," David said sharply. "Don, you need to stay awake." Don looked at him. David thought he saw confusion in his boss' eyes, but it was hard to read his facial expressions—the lower half of his face was coated in blood.

"Why?" Don's voice was calm and quiet.

"Because if you close your eyes now you may not open them again," David told him.

"Honestly, David, at this point I don't much care," Don said tiredly. Robin glared furiously at him.

"Well, we care," she said, her voice hard. "I care. So you will _not _be closing your eyes, Don." Don looked at her, a look on his face that she couldn't quite read.

"Always have to fall for the stubborn ones, don't I?" he asked finally, and Robin smiled reluctantly as she saw the corners of Don's eyes crinkle in a grin.

"And thank goodness you do," she told him, her eyes still determined but her voice lighter than it had been moments before. Don saw the rest of the team visibly relax. He could see it on their faces: they thought he would be fine now. They thought he was planning on making it out of this.

Don himself felt better, stronger than he had in what seemed like forever, although in reality he knew that how he felt was nothing close to his normal energy level. He pushed the pain back to the corner of his brain and fought to keep it there. Now he had to worry about getting his team out, because they weren't going to be doing it on their own. It was Robin who had done it. Robin who had reminded him of why he loved her so much, who had reminded him that he couldn't just sit here while the people he cared about were threatened. He needed to get them out. They clearly weren't planning on taking care of it themselves, so he would have to do it for them.

* * *

When Hett reentered, Don turned to him. Hett noted that his victim's eyes were clear of pain and fear.

"Why did you have my team come here?" asked Don. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it spoken aloud, to know for sure. Any information he had would help.

Hett walked over to the line of captives chained to the wall. Don watched from his position as Hett surveyed his team. Hett walked towards Robin. Don stiffened. Robin was glaring up at Hett.

"I asked them here," said Hett, leaning down to brush his fingers down Robin's cheek, "So that they could watch you suffer. So that they could watch you die." Hett stood, turning away from Robin. "You remember, Eppes, when I told you that I had no reason to hurt you, that there was nothing I wanted you to tell me?" Hett's eyes were locked with Don's. "Well, I was telling you the truth. And the only reason these others are here is because I knew that it would hurt you more. I'm still torturing you, Agent Eppes. I will never stop." Hett turned abruptly, and Don suddenly noticed the gun in his hand, just as it was whipped across Robin's forehead. It was a move similar to the one Hett had used on him. Robin gave a short little yelp before her body lolled sideways, held in an awkward position by her cuffed hands. Don yelled and lurched forwards, falling back as his weight yanked on his injured shoulder. Hett looked at him carefully. Then Hett knelt, looking down at Robin. He slowly brushed his fingers down her arm. Don's entire body was shaking with fury when Hett's fingers brushed mere centimeters from Robin's breast. The threat was clear.

"No!" he shouted, finally regaining control over himself. He had been frozen in place, unable to say or do anything. Colby and David were watching Hett, horrified. Megan looked like she wanted to throw up—or strangle Hett. Robin still wasn't moving. There was blood trickling down her forehead.

Hett turned to Don, his hand still close to Robin's chest. "It is your choice, Eppes," he told him. "You see, I'm reasonably certain that I can break you either way. There may be a slight time difference, but that doesn't concern me. So you choose: would you rather I break you mentally"—Hett gestured down towards Robin—"or physically?"

Don gritted his teeth. There was no doubt in his mind about what his answer would be. He was sure that no one in this room had any doubts. But it was one thing to think it, to know it deep inside of himself how he would die. It was another thing to say it aloud. To seal his fate.

"I'm waiting," Hett said. In Don's moment of inner struggle, he'd moved away from Robin, past Megan—thank god, part of Don thought—and over to Colby. Now he was lightly resting his foot on Colby's injury. He began to push down. Don saw Colby grimace and clench his teeth against the pain.

"Physically," Don spat, knowing that he had no more time for hesitation. Hett nodded, stepping away from Colby, and then looking over at Megan.

"You would have been next," he told her, sounding rather disappointed. Megan glared at him. Hett turned back to Don. "You should be grateful that I'm letting you choose. I'll be back, Eppes."

* * *

**Alright, so I hope that no one thinks what I did to Robin was too mean. I originally had it happen to Megan while Megan was conscious, and it was slightly more graphic, but then I decided that that was just too cruel, given Megan's previous reaction to such things (see the season 4 episode "Power"). And I definitely toned it down for Robin-I take no pleasure in physically hurting her, although emotional angst is okay. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!**


	8. Live with It

**A/N: Okay, I know everyone's itching for the cavalry to arrive, but just hang in there for another couple of chapters, okay? I like these ones too much to cut them. And yes, this ones short, and yes, this is going to be another double post. So I'm expecting reviews as a thank you :)  
**

**Disclaimer: No, I _still _don't own Numb3rs. Unless someone would like to give it to me?  
**

* * *

All the world I would defy

Let me make it plain as day

I look at you now and I sigh

How could it be any other way?

-"Tell Ol' Bill," Bob Dylan

Chapter 8—Live With It

"Hey, uh, Don?" David's voice brought Don out of his reverie. It had been maybe twenty minutes since Hett had left the room. Everyone had been completely silent. Don brought his head up. David was looking at Robin. Don looked over at her too and saw that she was beginning to stir.

Robin moaned, sitting up straight. At first Don thought that she was just going to fall right back over again, but she managed to steady herself.

"Robin?" Don said her name. "It's okay, sweetie, you're okay."

"Don?" Robin's voice was slightly groggy.

"I'm here, Robin, I'm here," Don told her. Robin opened her eyes, looked at Don, and blinked.

"What happened?" she asked. Don saw her twitch when the handcuffs stopped her as she instinctively tried to reach up and feel her head.

"Hett knocked you out," Megan told her.

"How long ago?" asked Robin. "What did I miss?"

"Maybe twenty, thirty minutes," replied Don quickly, wanting to handle this one. "You missed nothing—just a few threats. Trust me, it wasn't worth sticking around for."

Then the door to the room opened and they all looked around. Hett walked in, and Don clenched his jaw—Hett was carrying a pack of cigarettes. He walked up to Don, and Don did his best to hide the fear in his eyes. Cigarettes might not be the most painful instrument of torture out there, but they certainly hurt plenty.

"It was your choice, Agent," Hett said.

"What?" asked Robin, her voice betraying a note of panic.

"Well, look who's up," said Hett, turning to smile sickeningly at her. "Your friend Eppes didn't tell you? I gave him a choice. Him or you lot. He chose himself. Now he has to live with that choice. For a while."

Don saw Robin looking at him, sadness in her eyes. There was no surprise, he noted. Meanwhile, Hett pulled what looked like a rag from his back pocket. He bent down and moved to tie the rag around Don's head. Don jerked instinctively away. Hett leaned back on his heels.

"You or them, Eppes," he reminded. This time, as Hett tied the makeshift blindfold around his eyes, Don managed to hold himself still. Through the pain, Don noted that Hett had tied the blindfold tighter than was strictly necessary, so that it put pressure on his broken nose.

A moment later, Don coughed as cigarette smoke filled his lungs. Don had never been a smoker. He was used to walking by people with cigarettes—everyone was—but he didn't exactly go out of the way to inhale the stuff. As he struggled to get his breath back, he heard Robin cry out. A split second later, he jerked in pain. He could feel the cigarette burning a hole in his arm. Don bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to make a sound, refusing to give Hett the satisfaction in front of his friends.

"Stop!" he heard Robin yell as he gritted his teeth against the pain. The longer the cigarette was held in one place, the more it hurt. He wouldn't be able to bear it much longer, he knew. The inside of his cheek was bleeding. He wanted to spit out the blood—better than choking on it—but he knew that if he opened his mouth, the cry he'd been holding back would escape. "Please, stop hurting him!" Robin screamed again. Don shook his head once, wanting nothing more than for her to stop calling attention to herself. His memories of what Hett's unspoken threat were too fresh. "Don, Don, no!" he heard Robin cry a third time. Her voice was growing more distant, pushed away by the pain, the pain that was slowly pushing everything else away as well, expanding outwards towards the horizons of his mind like the shock wave after an explosion.

He was no longer aware of the particular location of the most intense pain, although he was fairly certain that cigarettes were still Hett's weapon of choice. The pain would be sharp and intense, then ease away for a few seconds in which he felt no relief, merely apprehension as he awaited the next time the cigarette would make contact with his skin, when the pain would once again blossom and there would be nothing else for what seemed like an eternity. Although by the time Hett left, there was so much pain that Don could barely tell the difference between when the cigarette was pressed against him and when it was not.

* * *

**Review!**


	9. Things Left Unsaid

**A/N: See, wasn't that quick? I'm experimenting with writing from Robin's POV in this chapter, so I hope it's alright. There's a vague mention of Checkmate, by the way.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs.  
**

* * *

You trampled on me as you passed

Left the coldest kiss upon my brow

All my doubts and fears have gone at last

I've nothing more to tell you now

-"Tell Ol' Bill," Bob Dylan

Chapter 9—Things Left Unsaid

Robin's throat ached from screaming. She was thirsty, she noticed, and hungry. But these things seemed unimportant whenever she turned her face to look at Don.

The amount of blood covering him scared her, although Robin knew that it was by no means their biggest problem. Robin could remember every single injury that Don had painstakingly listed for them. They were seared into her memory. Most of them would not bleed. This meant that what she was seeing on the outside was so, so much worse under all of that blood and dirt.

Robin's mind drifted to Hett. He was clearly getting a ton of sick enjoyment out of this. She saw monsters in her line of work, and she did her best to put them behind bars. This kind of case was a prosecutor's dream—so horrifying and sickening that getting a conviction was easy. The law had always been enough for Robin, but she knew that if a jury didn't send Hett to his death, then she would. She wanted to watch him die.

The door opened and Hett walked in. Speak of the devil. He leaned casually against the wall, facing Don, with his other captives off to the side. In his hand he held a knife. Without preamble, Hett began. His voice was casual.

"I hear that it's a horrible thing, to hear a knife slice through your skin. I hear it's something like cutting through steak. The skin splits in two, a perfect line down the middle. And there's always that certain satisfaction, as it slices so easily. Until you realize that what's being sliced is your own skin. I heard that's the hardest part—being unable to not appreciate the beauty, the elegance of the thing causing you so much pain. Not being able to stop yourself." Robin shivered slightly.

"I've always been fond of knives. There's something lovely in the work a good knife does, how cleanly it does its job." As he spoke, Hett was playing with the knife. He slid it across the tip of his finger, smiling slightly at the drop of blood it left there.

Robin watched the knife, horrified. The blade was long and sharp, the kind of knife that books described as "wicked."

Robin felt sick. Her skin was clammy and her body was going from hot to cold. She distantly wondered whether this was a result of the hit that she'd taken to the head—it still pounded—or her overall fear. She rather suspected the latter. Robin was terrified. Not for herself, but for Don.

She looked over at him, at the man whose mind, while drugged and tortured, had conjured up her voice for comfort. She looked at the man who made her happier than anyone ever had, at the romantic who opened the door for her and pulled out her seat at dinner, and who had, not long ago, saved her life.

He was still blindfolded, his body tense.

As Hett stepped towards Don, Robin felt her panic rising, adrenaline rushing into her veins. She fought hard to bite back the panic that was quickly rising into a scream. Her fear would not help Don. Nothing she did would help Don.

As Hett pressed the knife against Don's throat, Robin distantly heard David's bellowed "Wait!" and Megan's scream of "Stop!" Hett ignored them, not even looking up. Robin still made no sound. As the cool metal pressed against his throat, she saw Don stiffen. She was frozen in place.

"Do you know how to slit a throat, Agent?" asked Het, addressing Don. Robin her eyes grow wide with panic, and she couldn't stop her whispered "no." It had just struck her, truly struck her, that she was about to watch Don die. Although she had been biting back a scream mere moments before, her breath now came in short, silent gasps, and she was having trouble getting enough air into her lungs.

"Agent?" Hett prompted, and Robin realized that he was still waiting for an answer.

"Yes," replied Don, and Robin noted how exhausted he sounded. His voice was rough, and she wondered when the last time he'd had a drink of water had been. Not recently, she was sure.

Hett had positioned himself so that he was nearly directly behind Don, and they were both facing the others. Hett slowly removed Don's blindfold, the knife never shifting in his grasp. Don's eyes were closed.

Hett shoved Don's head down roughly, angling it, careful not to cut him. Robin was sure that everyone in the room must now be able to hear her gasping breaths. Watching Don, she noted that his own breath had barely even sped up. She felt as though she were trying to breathe for the both of them, as though that alone could keep Don alive once Hett made his move.

The room was frozen, waiting. Waiting for Don to go limp and to stay that way.

Then, Hett pulled away, taking his knife with him. Robin froze, holding her breath.

"Not yet, Agent," Hett told Don. "I won't set you free yet." He turned and left the room.

When the door closed, Don's whole body sagged. His eyes remained closed.

"Oh, God," Don suddenly gasped. He gritted his teeth and from between them came a strangled sound somewhere between a yell and a groan.

Robin looked at him in despair. She didn't know what to say to him.

"Robin." Don's voice saying her name startled her, and she looked up at him. "Robin, I need you to know…" Don was fighting to get himself under control, to steady his voice. "Robin, I love you." He said the words abruptly, shocking her. It was one thing to hear them when he was hallucinating, another to hear them spoken directly to her. His eyes were clear as they met hers. "I need you to know, before… before something happens." Robin noted distantly that the others were looking away, trying to give them some measure of privacy. "I thought… and I realized that I hadn't told you…" Don's voice was rough.

"I love you too," she interrupted, her declaration nearly as abrupt and panicky as Don's own. And as shocking. Robin hadn't been sure that she was ready to go there, ready to tell him—but now was the time. Robin thought she saw the ghost of a smile in Don's eyes.

"You'll tell Dad and Charlie that I—" Don began to ask.

"Don, nothing's going to happen to you," Robin interrupted, as desperate to convince herself as she was to convince him.

"You'll tell them?" asked Don again, ignoring her, his voice desperate.

"Yes," she whispered, knowing what Don wanted. She was supposed to tell his family that he loved them, that he was sorry. Either Don had somehow managed to hear her quiet response or he'd gotten the idea, because he didn't speak again.

Robin just sat and watched him, watched the breath enter and leave his body.

* * *

It might have been five minutes, a day, or a couple of hours later when Hett came back. Robin still had her eyes glued to Don. His eyes were closed, but no one doubted that he was awake—his breath was coming in irregular, painful gaps.

Robin looked at Hett. He was holding a gun. She thought she recognized it as the kind the FBI used. She realized with a sickening certainty that it was Don's gun.

Hett walked up to Don and pressed the gun against Don's forehead. Don didn't open his eyes, didn't even twitch.

The moment was surreal. The room was perfectly still and the silence deafening. Hett said nothing. The team said nothing. Robin said nothing. None of the panic Robin had felt with the knife came this time. Her body was numb. She was frozen in place, unable even to blink. She only noticed how easy it had all been. How easily Hett had walked into the room, not even pausing as he had made his way over to Don, not gloating or giving them a chance, any chance at all, to stop him. There was no longer anything between Don and death.

Hett smiled down at Don, then leaned down and whispered something in his ear. Still Don didn't move.

Then, once again, Hett turned and left the room.

* * *

Don noticed distantly the gun pressed against his head. He waited, dispassionately, for the shot that did not come.

Hett's voice was in his ear.

"You're broken," it told him. As the gun left his head and Don felt absolutely nothing, he was forced to admit that Hett probably had a point.

Don wondered calmly how long Hett would keep him alive. He wondered how long he wanted to be kept alive. He didn't know.

* * *

**Please review! **


	10. The Cavalry Waits

**A/N: So, I like the idea of this chapter, but I'm not sure how well I pulled it off writing-wise. Ah well. No more time for self-doubt-just post! Callahan's not my favorite character, but I have to say, he's fun to write :)  
**

**Disclaimer: Numb3rs isn't mine.  
**

* * *

A tempest struggles in the air

Unto myself alone I sing

It could sink me then and there

I can hear the echoing

-"Tell Ol' Bill," Bob Dylan

Chapter 10—The Cavalry Waits

Agent Callahan eyed Liz Warner. She was, in a word, hot. Even in a vest. Not everyone could pull off Kevlar, he thought to himself. The fierce look on her face only made her more attractive, in a way, although Callahan knew that he wouldn't be doing anything to piss her off anytime soon, not with that glare.

"We have to move in," said Warner, her voice tense. Callahan bit back his annoyance. They all knew that Agent Eppes and she had had something going on—it hadn't been six months since it had ended. She also had a right to be stressed—it was her that Agent Reeves had contacted to inform the FBI of the team's plans, and Warner felt responsible for them. But, as the senior agent present, Callahan and his team had taken command of the situation.

"We don't know how many hostiles we have. Hett could be working with someone," Callahan repeated to her. He liked to rotate through their reasons, giving a new one each time she asked to move and then starting over once he'd run out. They'd been out there all day and he'd given her this particular reason at least a dozen times. No doubt more. His second in command was keeping track—Callahan would check with him later, just out of curiosity. Next reason up: we've had no demands.

"Hett's alone," came a new voice. Callahan spun, along with the other dozen agents on the scene. Liz took a step towards the new arrival, looking relieved. Another ex, thought Callahan, nearly rolling his eyes. I mean, he could see why, and he'd gladly add himself to the list if it meant a few months with her, but…

"And how do you know that?" Callahan challenged, not liking that all of his men were suddenly looking to this stranger for information instead of to himself.

"I've been tracking this guy," began the man. "He was moving under a different name before he reached L.A., so it took me a while to put together the dots. But now here I am. And trust me, this guy works alone. He's not exactly a team player."

"I'm not just going to take your word for that," Callahan retorted.

"Well, then, there's only one way to prove it." The taller man's words sounded like a challenge.

Agent Warner had reached him by now, and began talking to him rapidly. The man nodded, and they both paused a moment to check their gear, un-holstering weapons. Callahan was getting a real bad feeling about this.

"Hey!" he called out, but not too loudly. They were too close to the target for noise.

Warner and the man didn't pause, but instead turned away and strode off towards the warehouse. Then men around Callahan began to scramble, clearly unsure of whether they should stop the renegades or back them up.

The shot that echoed off of the surrounding buildings moments later solved that problem for them.

* * *

Liz was frustrated. And furious. And completely and utterly terrified. Megan had called her, telling her that Don was in trouble and the rest of the team was about to surrender themselves to the guy who had just shot Colby and abducted Don. Oh, and guess what? Robin Brooks was going with them. Liz hadn't needed to warn Megan that Don was going to kill her for this, even if Hett didn't—Megan's voice gave away a painful awareness of all the possible consequences of choosing to follow the hostile's orders. And of choosing not to follow them.

Then Liz had called in backup and Callahan's team had taken over, playing the seniority card, when it was, by rights, her case. And to make matters worse, she was perfectly aware that the guy who had forced her to take the backseat on this one was now checking her out. Very obviously.

In short, Liz wanted to kill everyone. Slow, painful deaths. And she wanted to get her sometimes-team out of there. They she wouldn't kill. Although she rather suspected that Don would take care of that in her stead. Finally, she could hold her silence longer, although she knew that it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since she last made this same statement: "We have to move in."

Her voice sounded harsh. But under all of her anger and annoyance, Liz was terrified for the team. And the backup was supposed to be _backing the team up_. Standing here was not backing them up. It was not helping in any way. And they'd been standing here for nearly six hours. They might as well be in the FBI office, happily oblivious. Once again, Liz mentally cursed Callahan. He had to be the least competent agent she had ever met. Let him go botch up his own cases—but not when her team's lives were at stake.

"We don't know how many hostiles we have. Hett could be working with someone." Callahan was repeating the reason for the fourteenth time. Once again, Liz fought to control the urge to strangle him. He was mocking her, and she knew it.

"Hett's alone." Liz spun with the rest of the agents, smiling in relief at who she saw. She began walking over to him, knowing that now she had an ally. Between the two of them, Don and the others had all the backup they needed.

"And how do you know that?" Liz ground her teeth as she walked, resisting the urge to turn around and yell. Seriously, Callahan was an idiot. When the guy in front of them said that Hett was working alone, Hett was working alone. No questions asked. She tuned out the rest of the conversation that was taking place, her mind scrambling to remember the blueprints of the warehouse, the best entry points. There was a small room off to one side, and she didn't need Charlie to tell them that this was most likely to be where Hett was holding Don and the others.

Charlie. The thought of the other Eppes brother distracted Liz for a moment. She'd almost been tempted to bring Charlie in on this one, see if he could tell them anything. But she knew that the last thing they needed was to have another person emotionally involved in this case. And Liz knew that where Charlie's emotions were involved, his math side tended to disappear. But it was too late for second guessing decisions now. Liz shook herself slightly, reaching her target.

"You know the situation?" she asked without preamble. She received a terse nod in response. "Well, we need to move now. They've been in there way too long, and these guys aren't going anywhere. There's only one entrance to the warehouse. The only concern is that Hett may be with our guys, who are in a separate room. If so, there's no way to get to them without alerting Hett or turning this into a flat out hostage situation."

"We'll go check out the situation, and then make our move." Liz nodded briefly in reply, slipping her gun out of its holster, just in case. Her companion did the same.

A few moments later, they were in position, and in luck, because their target was in view and separate from the team. She nodded to the man next to her, and they stepped out into the open, perfectly aware that this put them in a position to be shot. And to shoot. The "FBI" emblazoned on their Kevlar was enough for Hett. Sure enough, he raised the gun.

A single shot echoed through the warehouse.

* * *

**Yes, I will eventually reveal the identity of the man. Although I'm sure that some of you will have already guessed correctly. **


	11. Rescue

**A/N: So, this is by far the shortest chapter, but don't worry, because I've got another coming. I hope everyone likes this one. Clearly the story's wrapping up, so it shouldn't be too long now!**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Numb3rs.  
**

* * *

Now I'm down on my luck and I'm black and blue  
Gonna give you another chance  
I'm all alone and I'm expecting you  
To lead me off in a cheerful dance

-"Workingman's Blues #2," Bob Dylan

Chapter 11-Rescue

Don regained awareness to the sound of a gunshot. He experienced a moment of panic—the shot… But no, he was very clearly alive. The pain attested to that. But what about the others?

Don's eyes snapped open, searching for his team. There they were, staring towards the door, frozen in place, listening. Hett was nowhere in sight. Don listened too, hearing nothing.

Then, after what seemed like ages, there was the sound of a key in a lock. The door swung open.

"Am I late?" Ian Edgerton stood in the doorway, a rifle slung over his shoulder. At first Don thought that maybe he still had more of those drugs in his system than he'd initially suspected. But then he decided that there was no way his subconscious would ever have come up with this.

"Edgerton!" Colby exclaimed, sounding just as shocked as Don felt. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been tracking Hett across the country," said Ian, getting directly to the point as always. "Wanted for a string of murders. Took a little while to make the connection to your case—Hett's a new name. After I figured it out, I simply had to look for any property he might have here in L.A. under his real name. This was the only place he could have been keeping you guys." Don mentally nodded to himself—the thought of moving was too painful. They hadn't run Hett through facial recognition because they'd already had a positive I.D. Therefore they'd had no idea that he'd had anything besides his house, let alone another identity.

"And when I arrived," continued Ian, "the cavalry was outside, biting their fingernails. Some wimps you got out there. Afraid to come in. Everyone okay?" A faint note of concern had entered his voice as he made his way over to the team.

"Don needs help." Robin sounded desperate. Don vaguely wondered if Ian and Robin had ever met.

"Woah, Eppes, you don't look so good," Edgerton said, noticing him for the first time. The concern had sharpened.

"Good timing, Ian, 'cause I don't feel so good either," said Don, his voice tight with pain. It hurt to talk, although Don wasn't sure why. He spit out some blood.

"I think we might all appreciate being let out of our cuffs right about now," David announced. "Tell me you've started carrying standard FBI gear, like keys?"

"He hasn't," came a voice from the doorway. "That's why I'm here." Liz Warner walked towards them. She looked briefly at Don, and Don saw the same horror in her eyes that he had been seeing in the rest of his team's. "Don?" Her voice came out unsteady.

"Been better," Don answered the unspoken question in her voice. "Get the others first."

Liz made her way over to the others and pulled out her keys to the standard handcuffs. She began by unlocking Robin and made her way down the line. Robin lurched to her feet immediately, swaying slightly. Don wanted to tell her to be careful, to remind her that she probably had a concussion, but his mind hadn't quite caught up to what was happening around him and he found himself unable to do anything but watch. Finally, Liz turned to him.

When she released his cuffs, Don's knee hit the floor and he grunted in surprise and pain. The other leg hit then, and he felt the shattered bones in his ankle grate against themselves. His arm swung down from where the cuff had been holding it, and the bullet hole in his shoulder seared with pain. Don tipped over, landing badly on his broken arm. He cried out, the world spinning. He realized vaguely that he'd knocked his head on the floor as well.

* * *

Robin watched Don fall. Every time part of him moved his pain seemed to increase. She wondered if maybe leaving him hanging there might have been the nicer thing to do. Not that she could have seen him chained, helpless, to the wall for one more moment. She rushed towards him, stumbling. Liz stepped back to let her through, clearly not knowing what else to do. Robin hovered over Don, not wanting to touch him.

He looked bad, she thought. He looked awful. She wondered for a brief moment if he would make it, even now, but she banished the thought from her mind. Instead, she turned to Ian, but found him already on his phone, calling in paramedics. She changed directions, looking back at Liz.

"Hett?" she asked, her voice slightly unsteady. "He's dead?"

"Yes," Liz told her.

Robin nodded. "Good." Her face was expressionless, and her voice had grown hard.

* * *

The next thing Don knew, he was being loaded onto a stretcher. He groaned, opening his eyes, looking for Robin. She stood beside him. He whispered her name. When she leaned in closer to catch his words, he simply kissed her on the forehead. The cut there had been bandaged, he noticed. She closed her eyes at the touch of his mouth, sighing slightly. He smiled, his lips still on her skin. Then he slipped back into unconsciousness.


	12. Together

**A/N: I'm sorry to anyone who read the last chapter early enough that it was actually chapter 9, not chapter 11-I posted the wrong chapter originally. And thanks to Rinne for pointing that out! Also, thanks to everyone who's been reviewing-I really appreciate it!**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Numb3rs.  
**

* * *

My cruel weapons have been put on the shelf  
Come sit down on my knee  
You are dearer to me than myself  
As you yourself can see

-"Workingman's Blues #2," Bob Dylan

Chapter 12—Together

Robin was waiting outside Don's room when Charlie came rushing down the hall. Behind him was Alan.

Charlie was in full panic mode, anyone could see that. His steps were jerky, his eyes wide, hair wild. He brushed past David as though he didn't recognize him. Megan stepped into his path.

"Charlie," she warned, holding out her hands to stop him. He looked at her for a moment, focusing on her face.

"Larry's going to kill you," was all he said, his voice taut with panic, near cracking point. The words themselves were flat and hurried. Robin nearly smiled. Don had told her all about Megan and Larry and their rather odd relationship. She had absolutely no doubt that Larry would be nearly as panicky as Charlie. And Don wouldn't exactly be pleased with her when he woke up.

The doctors had already told them that he'd probably be fine. He had a ridiculous number of injuries—it was a miracle, thought Robin, that the human body could undergo so much suffering without just falling into pieces. As it was, Don was in surgery. As long as nothing when wrong during the operations, there would be no permanent damage. Robin couldn't remember what was being accomplished in the surgery. She'd been numb, unable to do anything but stare at the door behind which Don was being operated on as a nurse had given her a lecture on the aftermath of concussions.

Robin glanced down, having just noticed that her hands were moving, twisting something in between them. It was part of her suit, ripped slightly. Robin looked at the suit. It was so difficult to believe that she'd been at work when the call had come, and that had been only seven or eight hours ago. Hett had only had them for about six hours. Only.

Robin's mind flashed back to the moment when Megan had called her for the second time. She'd been at Charlie and Alan's house, in a state of near panic, as she had been for four or five hours already.

_"Robin." Megan's voice had been strained, and Robin had feared the worst—but then why not call Alan, part of her had asked. "The guy who has Don has made demands." Robin had been was afraid that she wouldn't like this. _

_ "Something legal I can look into?" she had asked. "You know I'd do anything, Megan."_

_ "He wants us all there. Colby, David, and I. Unarmed. And you." Robin had frozen._

_ "What?" _

_ "I know," Megan had said. "I… I told him we'd be there. I had to." _

_ "I'm coming." Robin's voice had been hard and determined. She purposely hadn't allowed herself time to think this through. She didn't have the option of backing out. There was therefore no point in imagining such an option. When she'd arrived at the FBI, the team had been waiting._

_ "Look, Robin, I'm sure we can"—David had started, but she'd shaken her head. They could not go without her. Not if the man would hurt Don. She'd been under no illusions about what she was doing. No amount of training on Don's team's part could keep them safe now. _

A voice jerked her out of her reverie. How long had she been standing there? She glanced at her watch. An hour? Two? "Ma'am," the voice said again.

"Robin." Alan's voice was kinder, gentler.

"He's awake, ma'am. You can see him now." Robin stumbled towards the glass in front of her, putting her hands out as if to touch it. She couldn't see into the room—the curtains were closed.

"You're sure?" she asked, gesturing. Alan smiled.

"He asked for you." Robin realized that she'd been out of it long enough that Alan had already spoken with him. "I'm getting some coffee," Alan told her, rubbing his eyes.

She nodded vaguely in his direction, opening the door to Don's room. With the sound, Don opened his eyes. Seeing her, Don's face crinkled into a smile, the same smile she knew so well, and she felt tears slipping down her cheeks.

* * *

Don opened his eyes with a groan. He felt a moment of panic when he found that he couldn't move, but then he heard his father's voice.

"Donny?" it asked.

"Yeah, Dad, right here," Don replied, inwardly cursing. He didn't like his family to see him like this. He was supposed to comfort them when bad things happened, not the other way around.

"Oh, thank God." Alan's voice was choked with emotion.

"Dad, believe me, I wasn't going anywhere," Don told him, correctly interpreting Alan's relief. "There's no way everything would hurt this much if I was going to die." Strictly speaking, they both knew that this wasn't true, but neither said anything.

"Don!" Charlie's voice was excited, and Don watched him rush into the room.

"Chuck," said Don, nodding to him and grimacing when his head spun. He closed his eyes briefly against Charlie's spinning face, which was currently pouting at him.

"It's okay, Donny, we'll leave you to rest," came Alan's voice.

"Yeah, thanks," Don murmured. "I'm just awfully tired."

"Of course you are," reassured Alan.

"Wait," Don told them, not bothering to open his eyes. "I want to see Robin."

"We'll let her know," Alan told him as they left. It was a few minutes before Don heard her enter the room. He opened his eyes, smiling at her. He didn't notice her dirty, disheveled state.

"Hey," she said softly, and Don noticed that she was crying.

"Hey, baby," he said, watching as she walked towards him. "I'm fine," he continued. "Really."

At least, he would have continued. Instead of permitting him to do so, Robin had leaned down, kissing him hard on the mouth. One of her tears dripped onto his cheek. He smiled into her mouth. When she pulled back, he looked at her seriously.

"Don't ever do that again."

Robin looked at him for a moment, one eyebrow raised. "That?"

"Well… no, not _that_," said Don, thinking of the kiss. "Never put yourself in harm's way for me again. He could have killed you, and none of us could have stopped him." Don shuddered slightly, thinking of the other things Hett could have done to Robin without his being able to help her.

"Look, Don," said Robin, her voice serious now. "You need to know that, if we could redo the last twelve hours, I would do it again. You're going to have to accept that. I couldn't have left you." Don looked at her.

"He could have killed you," he repeated.

"And he could have killed you too," Robin pointed out.

"It wouldn't have mattered!" Don snapped at her. "If something had happened to you, none of it would have mattered!"

"And you think that I didn't feel that way, watching him hurt you? What, did you expect me to be thinking about what I was going to have for dinner or my next case? Don, I wanted to kill Hett. I promised myself that I would watch him die." She paused, trying to catch her breath. "Look, I know you want to protect me, but you have to understand that I feel the same way about you."

Don pushed his head back into the pillow. Robin knew that if he'd been more mobile, he'd have been running his fingers through his hair.

"Why are we even fighting about this?" she asked him, her voice tired.

"I don't know," he told her. "Come here." He managed to shift himself farther over in the bed. She lay down beside him, careful not to put any pressure on his injuries. The bed was not made for two people, and they both knew that the doctors would not be happy. But it was worth it, to be so close to each other again. Eventually, Robin slipped into sleep. Don lay watching her, the corners of his eyes creased with a smile.


	13. Never Know

**A/N: Okay guys, this is the last chapter, just a little bit of wrap-up. I know it's really short, but I just wanted a nice scene with the team and that was about all. I want to thank everyone who's read this-I really appreciate it! And also thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, reviews totally make my day!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs.  
**

* * *

In this earthly domain, full of disappointment and pain  
You'll never see me frown  
I owe my heart to you, and that's sayin' it true  
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down

-"When the Deal Goes Down," Bob Dylan

Chapter 13—Never Know

A day or so later was the first time Don saw his team again. They filed solemnly into his room. Colby was still on crutches, and he propped himself up against the window sill. Liz and Megan stood next to each other, leaning against the wall. David was off to Don's right, while Ian was just inside the door. Don surveyed them one by one.

Overall, he thought, they'd come out of it alright.

"So, what's the news, boss?" asked Liz jokingly. She'd be hanging around for a time, filling in the empty place on the team while Don recovered.

"Sounds like I'll be in here for a while," Don told them grumpily.

"Hey, man, I'm pretty sure that's to be expected," said David, smiling.

"Yeah, well, guess you'll be making a ton of visits to the hospital, because I'm cleared for… well, bed duty," Don told them.

"Hey, if you get all the paperwork, we don't mind," said Liz. Everyone laughed.

"As soon as I can get them to move me to a quieter wing, my room will be the official new war room," Don told them in his no-nonsense-or-trying-to-get-me-to-change-my-mind voice.

"Seriously?" asked Colby, incredulous.

"And how does the hospital feel about that?" Megan spoke up.

"I can be persuasive," said Don. His team just stared at him for a moment. He could tell that they were trying to gauge whether he was serious or not. Regardless of whatever conclusions they were reaching, he was indeed very serious. It would be ages before he would be mobile again and he was not just going to be sitting staring at the wall all day. It was like desk duty, only everyone else's desks had disappeared and now they had to stand while he lay in bed. Not all that different, really.

Don looked at Edgerton. "I guess we owe you a thank you," he told the other man. Ian waved him off.

"Don't mention it. Couldn't exactly leave you all there, now could I?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, Edgerton, thanks man," said Colby. The rest of the team echoed the sentiment gratefully.

"And Liz," pointed out Don.

"As a thank you, would you be willing to let me off the hook if I kill Agent Callahan?" Liz asked Don.

Don grinned. "I'm in a hospital bed. I can't be held responsible for my team's actions."

There was a tap on the door and Charlie, Alan, and Robin filed in.

"Hey, Don, how're you feeling?" asked Charlie.

"I'm good, buddy," said Don, smiling.

"I think I'll get some coffee," said Megan. "This room's getting a bit cramped." The rest of the team followed her out.

"You'd best be getting used to it," Don called after them.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Alan.

"Let's just put it this way," replied Don: "They'll be doing a lot more field work than they're used to."

"You think that's a good idea, Donny?" asked his father, quick to realize what his son intended.

"Seriously, Dad, I'm not just gonna lay here."

"And how to you plan on getting the hospital staff to agree to that?" Robin asked.

"Oh, I thought that maybe you could use a little of your prosecutor influence for me there," Don told her, grinning.

"Oh, no you don't," Robin told him, laughing.

"Hey, I can always try, right?" asked Don. "And I have a certain amount of influence around here myself."

The room was silent for a few minutes. Don lay back against the pillows, eyes closed, suddenly tired. A few minutes later, he heard them leave. He was startled when someone sat down beside him—one of them must have stayed, he reasoned. Don kept his eyes closed for another few minutes, then opened them again. He found Robin, watching him, smiling. He smiled back at her.

She need never know what Hett had threatened. It was a dread he would face alone.

* * *

**I felt that Don needed a little bit of compensation for all of the recovery time he's gonna need to get over this one, so looks like all of his new cases will be coming to him. I hope everyone enjoyed this fic-I appreciate people taking the time to read it! I love these characters-I hope I was able to do them at least a little bit of justice.  
**


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